


The Push They Needed

by hamiltrashed, MaroonCamaro, Michelle_A_Emerlind, skarlatha, TWDObsessive



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Daryl Is A Salesman, First Dates, If You Are Offended By the Word Shit This is Not the Fic for You, It's Probably For the Best Though, M/M, Mention of Bottom Rick, Rickyl Writers' Group, Round Robin, Shitty Puns, This is some serious shit, Unnecessarily Gendered Products, but no actual sex, sorry - Freeform, yogurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6993397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltrashed/pseuds/hamiltrashed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaroonCamaro/pseuds/MaroonCamaro, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind, https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWDObsessive/pseuds/TWDObsessive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl and Rick meet when Daryl comes by to sell some of Merle's new get-rich-quick products, and their initial meeting turns into a really shitty first date. </p><p>A round robin fic by some very well-respected authors in this fandom, who always take these characters and their relationship completely seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Push They Needed

Rick is sitting at his desk, feet up on the laminate wood while he spins a pencil in his fingers, when a shaggy-haired country boy walks into the open room with the officers’ desks. “Hey,” the guy grumbles, not quite meeting Rick’s eyes. “‘M Daryl. I’m here to give y’all some free samples of Brotivia.”

Rick looks the guy up and down, his eyes grazing over broad shoulders, cornflower blue eyes and a narrow waist. “Samples of what?” he asks, pencil still spinning.

“Brotivia,” Daryl repeats. “It’s yogurt for men. S’got extra protein to build muscle and Brofidus Regularus to keep ya regular.”

Rick’s pencil stops spinning and he arches an eyebrow. “...muscle building yogurt...uh _huh_ …”

Daryl makes a little snorting noise. “I think _brogurt_ is the preferred term.”

“Brogurt,” Rick deadpans. “Muscle-building brogurt. Are there also, like, male enhancements in it?”

Daryl glares at the smart-assed officer. “Are you honestly asking me a question about this shit? Just fucking take one, man. It’s free.”

“You’re not really doing a good job convincing me it’s worth my time, free or not,” Rick said as he cocked his head to the side.

“...it’s bacon flavored?” Daryl tries and holds out the sample with a heavy shrug.

Rick wrinkles up his nose. “Bacon flavored things never taste like bacon.”

“Man, my brother expects me to get rid of two cases of this bro-shit this afternoon and I don’t want to piss him off because if he’s pissed then he’ll start doing shots of cinnamon whiskey and drunk-dialing his ex-boyfriend who he swears wasn’t his boyfriend even though they totally fucked at least twice that I know of and man, I’m telling you, I will fucking spoon-feed this shit to you to keep that from happening.” Daryl pulls out one of the beer-flavored ones, removes the lid and plops a small, plastic sample spoon in it, handing to the cop.

Rick eyes the cup of slightly yellow yogurt--no, _brogurt_ \--with trepidation. But the guy who’s pushing the shit is damn pretty, so he decides to go for it--what’s the worst that can happen?

It’s utterly, completely disgusting, but Rick still smiles through it, even though his “smile” might be more like a clownish gargoyle grimace. He feels like a dog trying to swallow peanut butter just getting it down, but eventually, he makes it through.

“Good, right? You like it?” Daryl asks, raising an eyebrow. He knows it tastes like shit, but he’d noticed Rick’s lingering glance earlier so he decides to work that angle. He bites at his bottom lip as he waits for an answer, hoping that it makes him look adorable enough to distract the officer from the god-awful aftertaste that will be hitting him in three, two, one…

Daryl watches as the hot sheriff’s face goes from deep interest to deep disgust and barely dodges the spew of yellow yuck that flew out in his general direction.

“Motherfucker, that tastes like cat piss,” Rick whines through streams of brogurt.

Daryl tries to hold back a laugh. “You tasted a lot of cat piss?”

“No, I’m just imagining,” Rick says, grabbing for a nearby bottle of lukewarm soda to try and wash the taste away.

“So how many boxes can I put you down for?”

Rick quirks an eyebrow and lets his eyes travel up and down the reluctant salesman. “How many boxes gets me a date with you?”

Daryl tries his best to act cool, but ends up stammering anyway, “None until you wash the cat piss out of your mouth. ...but three. Three boxes.”

Rick digs his wallet out of his pocket. “How much do I owe you?”

“Sixty dollars,” Daryl says. “Plus tax. And, uh, your number.”

“Sixty bucks? Does it come with a free BJ?” Rick asks with a wink.

Daryl straightens up and feins shock. “You gotta buy me dinner first. What kinda guy do you think I am?”

“...well, it could be a classy BJ.”

“Could be a classy dinner. Impress me, Officer.” Daryl gives Rick a challenging raise of the eyebrow, flexing his impressive biceps in a way that just _has_ to be intentional and that goes straight to Rick’s cock.  He smiles and shakes his head with a quiet chuckle, pulling out his wallet.  

“I’ll take a case of the bacon flavor and I’ll meet you tonight at Outback. Eight o’clock?”

“So you think if you buy me a blooming onion you can get in my pants?” Daryl asks as he writes up the order for three cases of the bacon flavored brogurt. Hopefully the cop won’t notice that they used imitation bacon bits.

“No, but I think if I buy extra time with a blooming onion, you’ll learn how awesome I am,” Rick says with a brilliant smile.

“Got a lot of confidence for a man that almost puked on me a minute ago.”

Rick laughs. “But I didn’t. I held it in. That’s got to count for something.”

“Ain’t nothing sexier than a man that don’t puke on me,” Daryl begins then picks up one of the business cards on the officer’s desk. “I’ll see you at 8, _Rick Grimes_. Bring your A game. I ain’t easy.”

Rick licks his lips and runs his eyes up and down the cool drink of water again. “It ain’t worth doin’ if it’s easy.”

***

Rick arrives at eight exactly and finds it very hypocritical that the cute ass country boy who grilled him about being on time is, as it turns out, late. He’s led to a table and tells the waitress that his date will be coming soon, but she gives him a look that plainly says she doesn’t believe him.

When Daryl finally shows up, it’s twenty past eight and Daryl looks _pissed_ as he sits down in the seat across from Rick and grumbles “Keeps you regular my ass.”

“Are you honest to God eating that shit?” Rick asks.

“Well, I get a free case a month, man. Don’t want to waste it. Not like I been eating the cat piss ones. It was barbeque chicken flavor.”

“Barbeque chicken flavor, huh? So, any other flavors? I mean, if I knew I could get barbeque instead of bacon flavor, I woulda done that. Or anything else for that matter.”

“Dude, as much as you think the beer is bad, you don’t wanna get close to the fucking hamburger. Fucking Christ.”

Rick makes a face. “Why does this shit have so many flavors? Whatever happened to normal yogurt, man? Strawberries are perfectly acceptable, you know.”

“Well, according to the CEO--my dumbass brother Merle--the reason men have so much trouble with shits is because they don’t buy yogurt ‘cause it’s chick food. So brogurt.” He pauses, shrugs. “Although I guess the whiskey flavor ain’t too bad.”

“What did you used to do before this brother of yours got you involved in the shit business?” Rick asks with a laugh.

“You know, worked. Nothin’ in particular. Did do a stint with a guy cleaning out septic tanks. That job really sucked. Always smelled like a outhouse in July, you know what I mean?”

“Totally. Policeman is a better job. You know, working with the law. Keeping people,” dramatic pause, “ _regular_.”

Daryl shakes his head. “That is a shitty pun, man.”

Rick nods, serious eyes giving him a look of wisdom and sagacity. “You’re right. Let’s just flush that out of our minds.”

Daryl snorts with laughter and chokes on a sip of water. “You think we’ll be done with the toilet puns before the food comes?”

“I don’t know man, shit’s funny.” Rick deadpans.

“Just tell me you’re not going to order sausage. I can’t deal with a long, brown thing right now.”

In the middle of their laughter, their waitress finally makes her way to the table holding two glasses of water. “Here’s one,” she says, setting one in front of Rick, “and number two.” She sets the second glass in front of Daryl, who turns his head away so the waitress won’t see him losing it.

Rick, unfortunately, had already taken a sip of his water, which he immediately sprays across the table onto Daryl.

Daryl picks up a napkin and wipes his face, looking at the waitress. “Where’s the restroom, man?”

“Are you serious?” Rick gasps. “Again? How much of that brogurt have you been eating?”

“Man, I choke down at least three of those things a day, and Merle’s on my ass to help him figure out more flavors, and it ain’t even worth it. He just takes plain vanilla yogurt and tosses in flavored shit.”

“...there’s a shit joke in there, but man, it’s at the point now that it’s like a picture in a picture in a picture.”

Daryl pushes his chair back with a heavy sigh. “Used to be on a schedule, but this shit is ridiculous.”

Rick snickers. “I think I’d better not eat this brogurt after all. I mean, one of us has to be ready to take it later. After this wildly successful date, I mean.” He blushes a little and looks away. “I mean, nothing gets me more in the mood than cat piss and shit puns and getting water spit in my face, so I’m guessing it’s the same for you?”

Daryl looks down at Rick before he walks to the restroom. “I was just hoping for that classy BJ, but if you are offering that cute ass of yours, I’m in. Literally,” Daryl says as he walks off with an urgent pace towards the direction the waitress had pointed him in.

Rick watches as Daryl waddle-walks to the bathroom much faster than he’d expected that brogurt salesman would ever walk. He would have liked to tap that ass, but he’s willing to wait until the guy changes his diet, or quits selling brogurt. He makes a mental note to dump all the brogurt he had bought down his sink drain, but who the fuck knows what kind of corrosion that would do to the pipes.

Daryl returns to the table ten minutes later, a look on his face like he’s seen some shit. Rick tries to hold in the pun--he really does--but it comes out anyway: “So when do you go off duty?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m off duty now. I got nothing left, man.” Daryl plops down in his chair and flips open the menu. “Bacon cheeseburger- no. Beer- no. Barbeque Chicken- no.”

“Why don’t we start with the bloomin’ onion and then we can work out what we want,” Rick says with a twinkle in his eye. “They got lots of good shit here.”

Daryl’s mouth narrows into a thin line. “Stop being a turd.”

Rick nods. “You’re right. I’ve turd enough of this.”

Daryl leans forward and bangs his head on the table. “This date has turned into a shitshow.”

“Does it help if I promise you all this shit will be worth it afterwards?  My place is just around the corner.”

“I think you still owe me dinner after all the shit you’ve put me through tonight,” Daryl says from where his head is still laying on his arms.

“Nah, that’d go right through you.” Rick smirks. “Although maybe I should, because I don’t want you to _dump_ me.”

Daryl rolls his eyes and puts up a hand.  “Check please.”

“We haven’t ordered any shit yet,” Rick whispers.

“Fine, but one more poop joke and I’m out. I’m tired of this shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are 1915 words in this fic, and shockingly only 22 of them are "shit." No, really. We counted.


End file.
